Hurt
by Scarlet Tchaikovsky
Summary: She was their death dealer, their Undertaker. She was needed where the Winter Soldier wasn't, handling the missions he couldn't perform. The Undertaker was everything H.Y.D.R.A could've asked for in an assassin, a close second to the Soldier. But how can H.Y.D.R.A handle their second best assassin going rogue? (Set after 'Winter Soldier', during the period between 'Civil War')
1. Chapter 1

_"You can breathe. You can blink. You can cry. Hell, they're all gonna be doing that!"_ -Negan; **The Walking Dead**

* * *

Sometimes she'd wonder what it even meant. Why was H.Y.D.R.A. so protective of her? She'd been cooperative with them; she hadn't acted out in any way that would be considered treacherous. She knew where her position in H.Y.D.R.A. was. So what was wrong?

Listening intently to her surroundings, she could hear the faintest sounds of the guards coming down the hall; she could almost hear the things they were muttering to each other. Both consciously and unconsciously, she straightened her shoulders even more, making sure her back was as straight as could be. A habit that had been seared into her brain through years of training at H.Y.D.R.A.

Her cell door opened. Two men—with semi automatic rifles in their hands—stood on the other side, looking at her with stony expressions.

"Mr. Nowak needs to see you," one of the men said.

Without even uttering a word, she stood up and approached the two men, who—almost hurriedly—directed her into the direction Mr. Nowak would be waiting for her. The man in question was in charge of overseeing a majority of H.Y.D.R.A.'s operations, at least for the time being. He was in charge of going over important planning, the "handling" of specific people who were on H.Y.D.R.A.'s radar, and the occasional "sweep" of all post missions. Mr. Nowak was respected and feared by a large number of H.Y.D.R.A.'s underlings, but in regards to the organization's veteran operatives, their opinions of the man were relatively kept hidden.

The two men stopped in front of another door. They had her going down a series of hallways until they reached the very last door at the fifth hallway they had gone down. The man on her right looked back at her for a moment before unlocking the door. H.Y.D.R.A. was about its secrecy, no matter how trivial. When the code was accepted, the door opened and the two men stepped aside, holding their guns tightly in their hands, waiting for her to step out of line. When she walked in—the room itself was an improvement to the one she occasionally found herself in, but she wasn't in any position to say anything like that—she saw a man standing near the furthest table, his back to her, looking at something intently.

"Thank you," he said. "I'll take it from here."

The door closed, but she knew they were still standing at the other end. She stood closest to the door, her face neutral. Nearly expressionless. The man, Mr. Nowak, wore a nice suit and held himself with an air of authority. Nowak was young, more than likely in his mid- to late-thirties, with his black hair slicked back.

"You're probably wondering why you're here." A light Polish accent laced his words. When he turned, she looked him directly in the eyes. His icy blue eyes stared, unblinkingly, back. "Are you aware of Operation Insight?" he asked, arching an almost perfect eyebrow at her.

She nodded wordlessly.

"Good." He nodded, looking almost impressed. "If you're aware of it, then you must have known of its failure."

Again, she nodded wordlessly.

Nowak nodded. "With Operation Insight having failed the way it did, H.Y.D.R.A. is facing problems beyond its control," he said. "Mr. Pierce was killed by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Nick Fury. All of H.Y.D.R.A.'s encrypted data was leaked by the Black Widow. We've been compromised. Not only that, but we've lost our greatest weapon: the Winter Soldier." He looked at her carefully, looking for the teensiest crack. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She nodded.

"With the Winter Soldier on the lose," he went on, "in the. . . . _delicate_ condition he's in, it would be dangerous for him to be in the public. He needs to be here, with us. Where we can control him. Don't you agree?"

No response.

"I've heard nothing but good things about you," he added. "Your work for H.Y.D.R.A. is unparalleled. I've heard that you're nearly as terrifying as the Winter Soldier."

She remained unresponsive to his praise.

"Tell me, Undertaker, how well will you be able to track down our Soldier and bring him back?"

 **-0-0-0-0-**

Some days, she'd wonder why her brain would feel funny most of the time. She'd only have memories of all the terrible things she ever did, but no memories on anything good. She'd have phantom sensations of immense pain and agony, but she couldn't really understand where it was coming from. What was causing the pain? _Why_ was she experiencing it? Where had the name _Undertaker_ come from? She had questions—questions she didn't even know she wanted answers to until recently—that she wanted answers to.

It would be considered unwise to voice those questions. She had a feeling it would end badly.

After listening to what Mr. Nowak had said, she was escorted out of the room and into the room she'd use to prepare for her mission. It seemed easy enough—find the Winter Soldier and bring him back. H.Y.D.R.A.'s prized possession.

A thought popped into her head.

Why was the Soldier so important?

The thought was pushed aside. If it wasn't going to benefit her in the long run, it wasn't needed. It wasn't necessary. Her H.Y.D.R.A. training made it clear that she only needed what would benefit the mission; what would benefit H.Y.D.R.A. in the long run.

How beneficial were thoughts on the Winter Soldier's importance? Or why she had a codename? It wasn't.

Looking at the arsenal in front of her, she had to keep in mind which would be best in case the Soldier attempted to attack. The two men who led her to Mr. Nowak's stood just a couple feet behind her, keeping a close eye on her movements. Their bodies twitching with anticipation.

Knives that could be easily hidden and unnoticeable. Guns that could go unnoticed, as well. Wear the appropriate clothing that could hide the weapons properly. Make sure the weapons are secure enough to not inflict self harm. Those were the guidelines she went by when she was sent on missions.

Once she had the appropriate attire on—after Mr. Nowak requested she be cleaned up for the mission _(clean ups were never fun)_ —she had been taken to the arsenal room where she'd get her weapons.

When she had what she needed, she turned to face the two men. The men looked at each other for a moment, before turning and walking, opening the door with her right on their heels. She was going to be briefed by Mr. Nowak.

If she was going to bring the Soldier back, she was going to do it the _right_ way.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Hopefully this first chapter was decent. It's going to be a Bucky/OC story, and I really do hope it's not super clichéd or whatever. If you've got ideas on how the story could lay out, I'd be more than happy to read what you have to say.**

 **Nothing in this franchise belongs to me.**

 **Since Thanksgiving is pretty much here—or it's pretty dang close, so why not?** **—I hope you all have a lovely and safe Thanksgiving.**

 **I promise that more of the Undertaker's past will be put into light as the story progresses, so please don't get irritated if it doesn't happen immediately. I'm hoping to have at least a little bit of anonymity.**

 **Let me know if there's anything I should improve on.**

 **Thank you,**

 **Scarlet Tchaikovsky**


	2. Chapter 2

_"We realize the importance of our voices only when we are silenced."_ -Malala Yousafzai

* * *

Looking at the picture of the Soldier, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"You'll retrieve the Winter Soldier," Mr. Nowak explained, "and bring him back to us _alive_." Her eyes flickered to him for a moment. "I understand, this goes out of your area of expertise. But you must understand the importance of the Soldier's life. He's been a valuable member of H.Y.D.R.A. for many years. Killing him simply isn't an option."

Her gaze went down to the picture. It was a little grainy, but she could make out the details. He looked young; he had shoulder length hair; a hint of stubble on his face. What stood out the most to her was his bionic arm. A red star was painted on it, making it stand out even more.

Taking the photo from her, Mr. Nowak tucked it away in a file. "You've seen the target," he said, his voice stern, "and I take it you'll know what to do."

"How much?" she asked; her voice void of emotion.

Mr. Nowak arched a brow at her, seemingly surprised she could talk at all. "I'm sorry?"

"How much time?" she repeated.

"Ah." Nodding, he folded his arms across his chest, thinking it over. "That's a good question. The Winter Soldier is a master assassin, so it wouldn't be a surprise if he threw together a disguise." Thinking it over, he let out a thoughtful hum. "I'll make it interesting and give you one month."

Her lips pursed.

"That won't be a problem, will it?" His voice was almost taunting, as if he were trying to get a reaction out of her.

"Not at all."

 **-0-0-0-0-**

The Undertaker, whether she could recall it or not, had left the H.Y.D.R.A. compound she resided in countless times, but each time she went out it felt like the first. Seeing the world that was outside H.Y.D.R.A. filled her with a fascination; seeing the ignorance and naivety of the people who lived in the world filled her with a feeling of familiarity. That, maybe, at one point, she had been just as ignorant and naïve as them.

The H.Y.D.R.A. compound itself was kept hidden in plain sight in an Italian city. That had been where a majority of the Undertaker's training had taken place; that, and in a secluded facility at an unspecified location in Russia. It was expected that she learn various martial arts; become an expert sharpshooter; and learn multiple languages, depending on the mission she'd find herself in. She had done so with ease.

Mr. Nowak had instructed that a small team of H.Y.D.R.A. operatives accompany her in her destination to America, where the Winter Soldier was last seen. The team would go in civilian automobiles, to throw off any unsuspecting people. Despite H.Y.D.R.A. being compromised, they didn't want to stand out. They didn't want to be noticed right away. Which meant—also under Nowak's command—the drive be taken through backroads and any other short-cuts available. The standard when important missions were taking place.

"You'll be led outside of the city," Nowak had explained, "where you'll receive an airlift to the destination. Our American branch will be keeping an eye on you, Undertaker. Don't let us down."

Her eyes cast downward. She hadn't let them down before. She knew what the consequences would be if she did.

 **-0-0-0-0-**

The drive seemed to take longer than usual. The operatives were being extremely careful of the backroads they were taking, making sure they weren't being followed by anyone who wasn't them. Meanwhile, the Undertaker sat stiffly in her seat, her gaze glaring heatedly at the back of the seat in front of her. No one uttered a word; the silence was heavy and thick and almost felt as if it were suffocating. It was something she was accustomed to. Only the higher-ups were able to communicate with her; them and H.Y.D.R.A.'s medical team. Most missions would end in injuries that needed treatment, not that she really _needed_ it. It was required she _did_ get some sort of medical treatment to avoid infection.

Her fingers tapped on her knees. It was something she usually found herself unconsciously doing. How long had she been doing that habit? Her eyes narrowed a little. For as long as she had been in H.Y.D.R.A., more than likely. That was the thing, as well; she couldn't remember a time where she _hadn't_ been associated with H.Y.D.R.A. It was like they were a constant, looming figure in her life. No matter where she went, H.Y.D.R.A. was always there. Telling her what to do, what to wear, what to say—all for the better of the entire world.

Why would her actions be for the better of the world? Murdering people? Was that what the world had come to? She was supposed to be OK with the thought of executing people; they were interfering with H.Y.D.R.A.'s advancements, causing unwanted setbacks. Those people—the ones who were killed without a second thought—were the bad guys. She was _saving_ the world. Helping it move forward. Helping reshape the century.

At least, that was what she had been told countless times.

She stopped tapping her knees.

Her eyes darted to the men in the car with her. They sat just as stiffly in their seats as she was; their faces nearly expressionless. She could easily detect anxious fear in the eyes of one of the men. He looked younger, more inexperienced. She had to wonder if this would be his first time going out on the field. What kinds of horrors did he expect to happen?

She resumed tapping her fingers on her knees.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Sorry it took so long to post this chapter, but hopefully you guys like it! Let me know what you think of it, OK? I know the ending might not be the best, but it was the best I could come up with. If I decide to, I might come back and do a little rewriting on this chapter.**

 **Nothing in this franchise belongs to me.**

 **Hope everyone's having a nice Thanksgiving! Be safe, have fun.**

 **If you've got any ideas on how this story could go on—how Bucky and my OC could first meet; how my OC could meet Steve, since he's on a manhunt for Bucky; how the other Avengers could possibly be incorporated in this story; I'll probably hint at AoU in this story and possibly even Ant-Man, but I'm still deciding** **—don't hesitate to leave a review or PM me. If you have an OC you'd like to see written into the story, let me know and I'll add them in to the best of my abilities.**

 **Let me know if there's anything I should improve on.**

 **Thank you,**

 **Scarlet Tchaikovsky**


	3. Chapter 3

_"I have seen things you wouldn't believe! I have lost things you will never understand!"_ -11th Doctor; **Doctor Who**

* * *

The drive seemed to take longer than necessary, but that was to be expected. When it came to being cautious—for the most part—H.Y.D.R.A. knew what it was doing. But that didn't make it any less stressful.

By the time they were outside of the city, there was only a couple more minutes of driving before they reached their designated area. A H.Y.D.R.A. Quinjet was hidden behind some old abandoned buildings, the back opened, ready for the Undertaker to enter. H.Y.D.R.A. personnel were waiting on either side of the entrance, weapons ready in case something happened.

When the car came to a stop, the Undertaker and the H.Y.D.R.A. agents who'd be accompanying her got out, silently walking to the Quinjet.

"It's good to see you, Ms. Undertaker." A man stepped out of the Quinjet, an obvious American accent lacing his words. He was dressed in a casually formal attire, and had to be a couple years older than Mr. Nowak. "Henryk didn't tell you I was going to be here, did he?" he exclaimed. "I'll have to talk to him. He thinks he's the next big thing since Pierce's death. That aside, I'm Mr. Callaghan. My division is the one that will be overseeing your duties."

She remained unresponsive.

A smile spread across Mr. Callaghan's face. "I've heard wonderful things about you," he went on, motioning her to follow him into the Quinjet. The H.Y.D.R.A. agents followed right behind her, stationing themselves near the entrance as it closed. "Pierce himself never had the chance to see you, but I have to say it is an _honor_ to be in your presence." Sitting down, the Undertaker took a seat across from him. "Just like the Winter Soldier, you've helped reshape the century. But, because of Operation Insight, we've had a bit of setback. We've been compromised. All of our encrypted data's been released onto the internet, so anyone with the proper hacking techniques can uncover what H.Y.D.R.A.'s been planning."

The Undertaker's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've been told," she said, her voice void of any emotion.

Mr. Callaghan nodded. "At least Henryk told you _that_ ," he muttered. "But that's not of importance for right now. We'll figure something out when the time comes. You know of your mission. But what I want to know is if you can actually _do_ it."

"Mr. Nowak wouldn't have picked me if I couldn't," she said automatically.

A smile spread across Mr. Callaghan's face. "I can tell we're going to get along fine," he said. Crossing one leg over the other, Mr. Callaghan leaned back in his seat, folding his hands and placing them on his lap. The Quinjet trembled a little as the engines turned on. "I'm trusting you to do this, Undertaker," he exclaimed. "Don't let us down."

 **-0-0-0-0-**

 _"I can't understand you, Steve. This is the third fight in two weeks. You'll end up getting yourself killed."_

 _A sheepish smile came across Steve's face. Despite his physical appearance—smaller and scrawnier than most guys his age—Steve wasn't one to back out of a fight. If it was something he felt he needed to protect or stand up for, he'd do anything in his power to do so. Unfortunately on Steve's part, he always loses every fight he gets into—because of his disadvantages against his opponents, who have more muscle and height on him_ _—but that doesn't stop him from getting into more. Which also causes irritation and worry for his friends, Bucky and Billie Mae._

 _"Mae, I'm sorry," he said. "But you know I couldn't help it."_

 _Throwing a look his way, she shook her head. "You keep saying that," she sighed, gently wiping a cut on his eyebrow, "but one of these days you're going to get the wrong guy upset."_

 _Steve winced when she started cleaning the wound. It wasn't a deep cut, but it was deep enough to need disinfectant. Steve watched Billie as she cleaned his wounds. It was a usual routine for them; whatever the aftermath of a fight was, Steve would always end up at Billie's, getting treated if the wounds weren't severe enough. Luckily, from the looks of it, Steve would probably just have to deal with a swollen bottom lip, some bruises, and a black eye._

 _"Have you seen Buck lately?" he asked._

 _Billie hesitated over his cut eyebrow, her lips pursing slightly. "No," she said. "He's probably out with some girl."_

 _"Another fight?"_

 _"I wouldn't call it a fight."_

 _"But there was a disagreement."_

 _"Hardly."_

 _"Mae, please," Steve sighed. "You're both my best friends, I don't like seeing either of you like this."_

 _"It can't be helped, Rogers," she muttered. "Some people are just more tolerable than others, that's all."_

 _Gently grabbing her wrist, stopping her from cleaning his wounds any further, Steve looked at her with a steely expression. Steve and Bucky were a year and a half older than Billie Mae, and while she would sometimes act like the older one in certain situations, there were moments where they'd pull off the I'm-older-than-you-listen-to-what-I-say façade._

 _"Don't do this," he said, his voice sounding almost deeper. "Not to him. I know he can be a little difficult sometimes, but don't do this."_

 _Carefully removing her wrist from his grasp, Billie looked at him with a forced smile. "I know you've been friends with Bucky longer than you've known me," she said softly, "but I know how I feel when it comes to him. How much longer am I supposed to go along with this before I've had enough?" Steve's eyes lowered. "He's a good man, Steve, but I have to keep my best interests in mind, too. It can't all be about him."_

 **-0-0-0-0-**

The flight to America was long and quiet. Mr. Callaghan had gone up to talk to the pilots, and while what he was saying could faintly be heard, the Undertaker knew better than to listen to what he was saying. Her ankles were crossed, her hands placed delicately on her lap. It was something she did to keep herself focused. For some of her missions, if it required head-on attacks, she had to master pulling off a helpless façade to throw her targets off. They wouldn't suspect someone like her being an assassin.

Closing her eyes, she went over any attacks she may have to use if needed. The Winter Soldier, from what she was willing to put together, may very well have a height advantage and, obviously, more muscle. Killing him wasn't an option. She'd have to think up other ways to keep him from escaping or fighting back.

She'd figure something out when the time came.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **Hopefully you guys liked this chapter! What'd you think of the flashback? Whether or not it's too soon to be looking into the past, before Steve became Captain America, but I thought it'd be OK to have at least some understanding on what was going on in everyone's lives before everything happened.**

 **I own nothing in the MCU.**

 **If you've got ideas for OCs or subplots, don't hesitate to review or PM me. I'd love to know what you guys want added to the story.**

 **Let me know if there's anything I should improve on.**

 **Thank you,**

 **Scarlet Tchaikovsky**


	4. Chapter 4

_Just stop your crying_  
 _It's a sign of the times_  
 _Welcome to the final show_  
 _Hope you're wearing your best clothes_  
 _You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky_  
 _You look pretty good down here_  
 _But you ain't really good_

-Sign of the Times; **by Harry Styles**

* * *

She tried thinking of every possible method of bringing the Winter Soldier back to H.Y.D.R.A. She understood it wouldn't be easy, he'd more than likely put up a fight and civilians would be harmed. Though it didn't really matter. But...maybe it did. She should keep a low profile; H.Y.D.R.A. was already in deep shit thanks to Captain America and his associates. With all their data leaked onto the internet, anyone could decipher what their plans were. All the people they planned on eliminating, all the ways they planned on conquering civilization, all the terroristic associations they helped form and negotiated with — every little detail was leaked. The name of every agent and mole was out. Everyone was compromised. Yeah, she'd have to keep an _extremely_ low profile.

 **-0-0-0-0-**

 _Billie Mae von Kármán had thought of James Buchanan Barnes as nothing more than a player. He knew what to say, which smile worked for which situation, what body language to use, where and when to touch someone should the situation call for it_ _— he could play anyone like a fiddle. The girls would swoon and turn into jello whenever he showed up. The guys wanted to hang out with him, hopefully becoming cool and popular like him. Billie Mae, on the other hand, couldn't figure out what it was about James Buchanan Barnes that made him so likeable. He knew how to play people, which buttons to push that made people give in and look at him as if he were the greatest thing to bless the Earth._

 _She couldn't comprehend it. Her family didn't entirely care for him either, especially Billie's older brother, József. József thought James was nothing more than a smug little punk. Billie's brother expressed on more than one occasion how he wanted his baby sister staying far away from James, how he didn't want Billie being wrongly influenced on how to behave._

 _"Trust me, I have no intention on getting to know him," Billie snorted._

 _"Good," J_ _ózsef exclaimed. "Someone like him is nothing but trouble."_

 _The siblings' parents, Aron and Lili von Kármán, a Jewish couple originating from Hungary, didn't entirely care for James either way. They didn't want Billie Mae or J_ _ózsef associating themselves with someone like James, though the siblings didn't have to be told twice._

 _But, oddly, there came a day where James was starting to pay attention to Billie Mae, much to her suspicion and surprise. Not once had she ever acknowledged him in public, not even going out of her way to be friendly or polite to him. She'd straight up ignore him, though she would say hi occasionally to James' good friend, Steve Rogers. Steve was smaller, scrawnier, and more sickly than James, but somehow the two boys had a strong friendship. Billie was polite to Steve because he was a genuinely kind person. He was hardly ever recognized as someone with a good heart, which made Billie feel terrible._

 _The first time James had come over to talk to Billie, she had been taken aback. He came off as very straightforward, and it left her in a bit of shock for a minute or two before deciding to say anything back._

 _But it was in that moment, where she decided to respond, that really started a big change._

 **-0-0-0-0-**

James Buchanan Barnes, that name held some kind of significance. He couldn't understand why, though. He couldn't remember anything about his life before H.Y.D.R.A., so his confusion on the name that had been thrown his way seemed a bit justified. How was he supposed to handle being someone who was considered a war hero given his background? Decades of murder, and he was supposed to be okay knowing he had a _monument_ in some Captain America museum? It didn't feel right, not at all. His time as the Winter Soldier was really the only thing he could truly remember; he may get very vague moments of familiarity, but he couldn't pinpoint it exactly.

The dread that filled his body upon the conclusion of the Triskelion battle only seemed to intensify with each passing day. It was during his final fight with Captain America that he was starting to understand that the life H.Y.D.R.A. had orchestrated couldn't be the only thing there was for him. Captain America had been putting thoughts into his head, stirring some kind of rebellious behavior that hadn't been there before. Now that the Winter Soldier had gone rogue from H.Y.D.R.A., he could restore the decades of missing memories that had been stolen from him. The museum dedicated to America's golden boy seemed like the best option; if he'd been such a close friend of Captain America's, then maybe the museum would hold answers. It didn't. Pictures, vague descriptions, it didn't work in bringing back memories. Maybe there would be the occasional feel of familiarity, but it didn't really go beyond that.

It was infuriating. He'd been working for H.Y.D.R.A. for so long, he'd had so many good times taken from him. The names and pictures in the museum held little to no value for him. The familiarity did nothing to bring those names or pictures meaning. But he knew he'd have to dig further to make that meaning appear. He'd have to make the best with what he had and go from there.

* * *

 **(A/N):**

 **How was this chapter? Was it good? Was it bad? Was it meh? I don't know. My brain's** **fried** **! I just finished my last final today, and now I'm officially done with spring quarter! Unfortunately — or fortunately, considering how you look at it — I'm taking summer classes — only two, thank God** **— so that I can hopefully finish community college either this winter or spring. If I can finish community college, there's a chance I'll go to university after. Though I am considering taking a bit of a break so I can save up some money. I'm still deciding!**

 **Anywho, enough of my school rambles.**

 **Do I own anything in MCU? No. No I do not. I own my characters and the subplots I put in.**

 **So, you guys got to know a little more about Billie Mae's background** **— like her parents being Jewish and Hungarian. Notice, that "Billie Mae" won't actually be her real name, considering everyone else in her family has Hungarian names. I'll reveal Billie Mae's true name in another chapter flashback.**

 **Do you have an OC or a subplot you want added to the story? PM me or leave a review. Do you have constructive criticism you think would help improve this story? PM me or leave a review! Things like that are important.**

 **Let me know if there's anything I should improve on.**

 **Thank you,**

 **Scarlet Tchaikovsky**


End file.
